


Damsel in Distress

by Spurlunk



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spurlunk/pseuds/Spurlunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is minding his own business when a cat comes in his window and leads him to its owners apartment, where he learns a little more about his mysterious red-headed neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have Internet for a week and this is what came out of my brain.

Steve made a point of knowing who all of his neighbors were. For the last three years he'd lived alone in a small apartment just outside of Brooklyn. The building was very old, and about half of the tenants had lived there for years. Steve knew them all by name. He carried groceries, held doors open, and asked about grandkids with the friendlier ones, but even the grumpier older men and women at least gave him a nod when he said hello by the mailboxes. The other half of the tenants were a regularly rotating crew of single moms, broke college students, and a few quiet people who kept to themselves and clearly cherished their privacy.

The pretty redhead from apartment 7B clearly fell into the latter group. Steve had seen her around since she'd moved in about six months ago, but other than a quick hello when they ran into each other taking out the trash, he'd never actually interacted with her. Even Mrs. Tallow, the gossipiest person in the building, knew nothing about her except that she had a cat.

It was the cat that started it all. A graceful and intelligent tabby, she somehow made her way down the fire escape and yowled, scratching at his window until Steve let her in, carefully placing his paints out of her reach before he did so. She meowed and rubbed against his leg.

"Hey there. What's wrong, you hungry?" he asked. The cat wouldn't leave him alone, even after he bent down and rubbed between her ears. The cat went back out on the fire escape through the window and looked at Steve like she wanted him to follow.

"You want me to go with you? I'm not so sure that's a good idea..."

The cat leapt easily to the fire escape of the apartment below, and then looked back at him, yowling loudly. If he kept going like that he'd wake up the neighbors. Steve wasn't a big guy; far from athletic or graceful. He knew what he was about to do was a dumb idea, but he did it anyway. Steve climbed out the window and down the fire escape, until he was standing at the window of the apartment just under his, presumably where the mysterious redheaded cat owner lived. Steve had to pause a moment to catch his breath. His pale skin bruised easily, and was already turning purple on his arms where he must have pressed against the metal as he climbed.

The cat wasted no time, slipping into the apartment through the open window. Thankfully Steve was skinny enough to squeeze through after her, though he fell quite ungracefully inside to the floor. The cat was gone, but once his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw that she was simply sitting by the wall, watching him with her yellow eyes.

Steve looked around. The apartment was very minimally furnished, but the layout was the same as his own place upstairs. He felt his way to the wall and turned on the light, and when he noticed the young woman on the couch he almost yelped in surprise.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to barge in like this, your cat got out ..."

He stopped talking when he got close enough to see her properly. Last time he saw her, her red curls were pulled away from her face and she was dressed in simple workout clothes. This time, she looked very different. She was wearing a sparkly green evening gown that had a slit up the side, and she was barefoot, her feet dirty. She was half-sitting on the couch, a dark stain on her side and her right eye swollen almost shut. Dried blood stuck her hair to the side of her face, and her lipstick was smeared, though her eye makeup wasn't.

"Are you okay?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course she wasn't okay, even an idiot could see that.

"Damn cat," she said, pushing herself completely upright. Steve was at her side, ready to take her hand if she needed support, but then he saw her hands were bloody too.

"Stay here," he said, and went into the bathroom. He came out with a bowl of water, a clean washcloth, and a manicure set. He took his neighbor's hand, gently washed it clean, and then used the tweezers to pick out shards of broken glass from her palms.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"They tried to blow me up," she replied.

"Well I'm glad they didn't, whoever they are."

"They won't get rid of me that easily."

"I'm sure," Steve said, moving on to her other hand.

"I'm Natasha," she said suddenly.

"It's nice to meet you, Natasha. I'm Steve. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"No, I can't go there."

The washcloth and water were dirty, so he went to change them. When he came back, he began cleaning the side of her head and face, his forehead furrowing in concern.

"It's not my blood. I took one of them down. The other got away."

"You got one though. Good for you," Steve said. Something about Natasha made him believe she was the good guy, even though he knew little more of her circumstances than her name. It was just a feeling.

"What about your, uh ..." he said, vaguely gesturing at her ribs. Natasha stood up, her posture so artificially perfect that Steve could tell she was in pain.

"You're going to have to help me get this off," she said, and Steve knew he was blushing something fierce, but her back was turned. The cat watched him from the corner, flicking its tail calmly back and forth. Steve unzipped the dress carefully. It came off easily around her shoulders, but got stuck in her side at the part that was covered in dried blood. Steve wet the washcloth and dabbed at the wound until the dress finally fell free, pooling on the floor. At first Steve thought maybe she'd been cut by a larger piece of glass, but when he cleaned the wound he saw it was something more.

"I got shot," Natasha explained.

"I don't know how to fix this, I can take you to the emergency room - "

"No. I'll tell you what to do."

By the time she had finished walking him through it all, it was nearly midnight. Natasha was clean, bandaged, stitched up, and he'd even helped her put on a baggy oversized T-shirt so that she was dressed in more than her bra and undies. That last part was more for him than her, she seemed to be the type to be completely comfortable in her own skin no matter what she was wearing or not wearing.

"I don't feel right just leaving you here," Steve said finally. Natasha smiled from her seat on the couch, too tired to move.

"I'm fine, I swear. It's not that bad, I've been shot before."

Steve knew this was true, he hadn't been able to help notice several older scars on her body when he'd helped her clean up. Natasha had clearly had a hard life by anyone 's standards.

"Let me at least help you get into your bed and take a few aspirin before I leave."

"You don't have to do that," she said, but he refused to budge, holding out his hand until she took it, slowly rising to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned on him, walking slowly to the bedroom down the hall. He helped her into bed and went back into the bathroom to get some aspirin and a glass of water. He waited there while she took them and lay back down.

"What are you going to do, tuck me in?" she said, and Steve blushed again.

"No, I just - I'll come back to check on you tomorrow, okay? Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"I'm sure. You've been very sweet, Steve. I'll see you later," she said.

"Okay. Good night," he said, and went out to the front door. However, he realized that these doors didn't lock from the outside unless you had the key. He could just go out the way he came, but he didn't think he'd be able to climb up the fire escape as easily as he'd climbed down. He was already sore just from the one trip, and he hadn't brought his inhaler down here with him. He found the apartment keys in a small bowl on the kitchen counter, so he just took them with him and locked the door. He figured he'd come back in the morning and give them back, early enough that she wouldn't even have time to notice they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When Steve went back into his apartment, he had trouble trying to figure out what to do with himself. It was late, and he should sleep. His paint had dried, and it seemed silly to get some more out to work on his art at this hour. He changed his clothes and went into bed, but after tossing and turning for an hour or so, he gave up on trying to sleep. Steve looked at the clock. It was now almost three in the morning, and he had to be at work around eight. It wasn't going to be a good day, that he could tell already. He went into his kitchen to get a glass of water, and then he heard some strange noises coming from the hallway. He put on a pair of sneakers he'd left by the door and peered through the keyhole. There were two men outside, and they looked confused.

Steve opened the door, and the men immediately turned to look at him. They were large and imposing, and wearing dark clothing.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, probably a little too chipper for the late hour.

"We're looking for the apartment of a Ms Natasha Romanoff, do you know where she lives?" one of the men, the older one with the shaved head asked. Steve nodded.

"Yes, she's two floors up, I'm not sure which apartment though," he said.

"Thanks, you have a good night," the men said, and Steve nodded, shutting his door but looking out the peephole until he was sure they were gone. Then he grabbed the keys to Natasha's apartment and left his own, climbing down the stairs and letting himself in. He didn't turn the light on so he didn't attract any attention from outside, heading straight into her bedroom and putting his hands on her shoulders to wake her up. Her eyes opened so fast he tried to rear back, but she grabbed his wrists with a viselike grip, and sat up, twisting him around painfully and knocking him to the floor.

"It's just me - Steve! Your neighbor! There's some men looking for you, I just came here to warn you, I sent them upstairs so we have a little time but I think you should leave - " he said all in a rush. Natasha blinked a couple of times and let him go, turning to the closet and pulling out a pair of pants, pulling them on, and then taking a knife from her bedside table and strapping it to her leg. She reached under her pillow and grabbed a gun, holding it at her side and picking Steve up, pulling him by his arm.

"Stay close," she said, and led the way out the window to the fire escape. Her cat was sitting at the window, watching.

"Get out of here," she told her, and the cat disappeared up the ladder. Natasha looked down and saw a black SUV parked in the alleyway by the dumpster.

"We need to go up. Follow me," she said, climbing up the ladder. She moved incredibly fast, and was very athletic, despite the wounds she was still clearly recovering from. Steve struggled to keep up, and though he did make it to the roof, he dragged himself over and tried desperately to catch his breath. Natasha looked around quickly and then went back to him, pulling him up to his feet.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Don't - have - inhaler - " Steve wheezed.

"What can I do?" she asked. He shook his head, and the two of them waited the minutes that seemed more like hours until he could breathe properly again.

"We know you're up there!" someone called up. It was one of the men Steve had spoken with earlier, he recognized the voice. They were on the fire escape, and coming up fast.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked.

"You're going to go over there, and stay put," Natasha said, pointing to a cement structure that came up to Steve's waist.

"What about you?"

"I can take care of myself," she said, and Steve went and crouched down behind it. Natasha flattened herself on the floor of the roof and waited. When the first man climbed up, she viciously hooked her legs around his, and he slammed to the ground so hard Steve could feel the roof vibrate. She shot him once and he didn't move again. His friend learned from his mistakes, coming up head first, guns blazing. Natasha ducked and moved so fast that Steve couldn't even see what was happening, but a few moments later, the other man was thrown off the roof entirely, and Steve winced when he heard a thud that meant he had hit the ground, ten floors below.

"You can come out now," Natasha said, and Steve stood up, walking out to meet her.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Natasha. I already told you that. I need to go. They will send others after me. You should go home and get some sleep," she said.

"I can't leave you alone, you're hurt. Maybe you can take out two guys okay, but if they sent more, you might be in trouble."

"I told you, I can take care of myself."

"I want to help you anyway."

Natasha let out an exasperated huff through her teeth.

"I don't need your help."

"I won't leave. I'll stick to you like, like - "

"Like a mosquito."

Steve shrugged, but he was determined. He might not look like much, and she obviously did things like this for a living, but she was hurt, and everyone could use help. He was in this already anyway. She must have seen that in his expression, because she clearly decided to let him tag along, handing him a small switchblade she produced from somewhere in her clothes.

"Keep that, don't use it unless you have to, and don't fall behind," she said, and shot the lock on the door of the roof so that they could take the stairs back down.

"I'll do my best," Steve said, and followed her.

Natasha took the stairs two at a time, but she had to stop at every landing to let Steve catch up. He hated being so slow and sickly, but asthma was one of the many ailments he'd had to live with all his life, and he wasn't about to give up. That just wasn't who he was.

"We'll stop at your apartment and get your inhaler," Natasha said, and Steve nodded, too out of breath to answer. Once they had done that, and Steve had taken a few puffs, he felt much better. In fact, he felt well enough to be able to not only keep up with Natasha down the stairs, but also ask her questions he'd been wondering about for hours.

"So why exactly are these men after you?" he asked.

"I took something of theirs and they want it back."

"What is it? Do you have it with you?" he asked. She pulled a thin silver chain out from underneath her shirt, he hadn't noticed that she was wearing it. On the end of it was a silver pendant. It was pretty, but nothing special.

"What's so important about that necklace?" he asked as they exited the apartment building and Natasha went straight for the black SUV in the alley.

"It's not the necklace itself, it's what's inside it," she replied, opening the car door and slipping into the driver's seat. There was a click as she unlocked the passenger side door and Steve climbed in.

"We're stealing a car too?"

"Unless you have one we can use," she replied, hot-wiring the car and peeling out of the alleyway down the city roads. Thankfully due to the extremely late (or early depending on your point of view) hour, there was very little traffic, because Steve thought Natasha's driving would have gotten them killed any other time.

"You still haven't really answered any of my questions. Why do these guys want your necklace, and why did you take it in the first place? What is it exactly that you do?"

Natasha sighed and kept her eyes on the road. They were heading out of the city, that much was clear, but Steve had no idea where they were going. He wished he'd brought his cell phone with him, he was obviously not going to make it into work this morning.

"Look, Steve, you're a nice guy. I've done my research. I know that you're the kind of person that will help his neighbors, and escort old ladies across the street. If you found a thousand dollars on the ground, you'd turn it into the police instead of keeping it for yourself. You're a good man and I appreciate your help, but the more I tell you, the more danger I put you in. You already know more about me than ninety percent of the people I meet," she said. Steve decided not to push it. He'd find out more as she chose to tell it. Everyone had their secrets, everyone had things they'd rather not talk about. Even him, no matter how much of a nice guy he was.

"Alright, then. Where are we going?"

"James and I used to have a safe house in New Jersey. I don't know if it's been compromised. I haven't spoken to him in a year. It should still be available, though. He may even be there to help us."

"James?"

"A...friend of mine." Natasha said, but her hesitation led Steve to believe that this James had been something more than a friend. Perhaps even a partner.

"I can drive if you want. You must be exhausted."

"It's fine. I've been through worse. You can rest. I'll wake you up when we get there."

Steve was determined to stay awake, so that at least he could see where they were going, but even with all of the strength he could muster, his body betrayed him, and he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve didn't dream. When he woke up, it was because the car had stopped. They were in the parking lot of an Applebee's, but Steve wasn't hungry. The clock on the dashboard read five fifteen am.

"We need to switch cars. They'll be tracking us with this one, and we have a head start, but not by much." Natasha explained. Steve followed her out of the car, still a little bit asleep, and went into the restaurant to use the bathroom. When he got out, Natasha was waiting for him in a small silver sedan Steve had never seen before.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, and Natasha refused to answer. She knew he would not approve.

About an hour later they arrived in a small suburban neighborhood Steve did not recognize. Natasha pulled up in front of a one story white house with a garage out front that was identical to all of the other houses on the block, except some were pastel shades of blue or pink or green instead of white.

"Suburbia," she said, her mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. Steve shuddered, but got out of the car. Natasha went first, her gun at her side so that any early joggers passing by wouldn't see it, but still at the ready if anything went wrong. Steve waited a few yards behind her. Natasha pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the front door. It swung open silently, and she went inside, Steve again following behind. They made it just past the front entryway, Steve quietly shutting the door behind them, before they were attacked. A figure dressed all in black, with long hair obscuring his face, pounced on Natasha, the gun skittering away from her hands on the wooden floor, and her body unceremoniously landing on the floor. She recovered quickly, twisting her legs around his waist to pull him down with her, and the two of them were moving so fast Steve wasn't even aware of what was happening. He bent down and grabbed the gun, flicking off the safety and pointing it at the masked man in black.

"Let her go or I'll shoot!" he said, and both Natasha and her assailant froze.

"Tell your friend to stand down," the man said, letting go of Natasha. She stood up and dusted herself off. Steve could see that the wound on her side was bleeding through her bandage and staining her shirt. She really needed to go to a doctor for that. His stitches hadn't been good enough.

"James, this is Steve. He's a friend. We both need to lay low for a little while." Natasha said.

"Steve?" the man said. He stepped forward into the light, and his hair fell back from his face. When Steve saw him, he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He dropped the gun and Natasha was at his side in seconds to catch it before it fell or went off.

"Bucky?" Steve managed to gasp out. The man's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

X

Steve made it to the bathroom, he wasn't sure how, and he sat down on the toilet, putting his head between his legs to calm himself down. He could hear Natasha and James talking in the other room in low voices, and he was suddenly grateful that he hadn't eaten anything in a while so he couldn't possibly throw up. Bucky was dead. He had seen what was left of his motorcycle after the accident, there was no possible way he had survived, they hadn't even been able to recover anything more than a shoe from the bottom of the ravine. Yet here he was, standing in the other room, alive and well. He looked different, to be sure, the long greasy hair a strange look, and his eyes had been so blank when he looked at Steve, he almost believed that he actually didn't recognize him.

Steve walked out into the other room. Natasha and James were in the kitchen. Natasha was sitting at the counter and Bucky was frying some eggs. Natasha looked up when he came in, but James didn't turn around.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine. As fine as anyone can be when they find out that their best friend that they thought died five years ago is actually alive."

"I'm not your best friend. Whoever Bucky was, I'm not that person," he said.

"You are. I know you are. I knew Bucky - I know you better than I know myself. I don't know what happened to you or how you're here but you're him." Steve said.

"Sit down, Steve. Tell me more about Bucky, and we can eat some breakfast. Do you want some juice?"

Natasha poured herself a glass of orange juice and then poured one for Steve, handing it to him. He didn't touch it. When he began to speak, James didn't turn around, but from his stance Steve could tell he wasn't missing a single word.

"Bucky and I grew up together. My mom was working all the time, she was an emergency room nurse. Bucky lived across the hall with his sisters, and his mom stayed at home with all of them, so my mom dropped me off there after school most days. Bucky and I were best friends all through school, and when my mom died the year I was sixteen, Bucky moved out of his parents' place to room with me. He dropped out of school to work so that I could stay and finish. My dream was to go to art school, and he let that dream happen. Then, five years ago, he was out late one night coming back from a date with a girl when he had a motorcycle accident. He took a sharp turn and fell down a ravine. They couldn't recover his body, it was too dangerous to go down there."

"They never found a body?" Natasha asked.

"Just the motorcycle."

"James does any of this sound at all familiar?" she asked him. He turned, half facing them as he scraped the eggs out of the pan onto two plates and pushed them in front of Steve and Natasha, but his hair still obscured his expression.

"No. I'm sorry about your friend, but I'm not him."

Steve pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, and took out a faded, well-worn picture from the back. It had been folded in half, and the crease was so deep the picture was almost torn in half. It was Bucky, his arm around Steve, both of them caught mid-laugh. They were teenagers when it was taken, both a little gangly and pimply, but happy with each other. Steve passed it to Natasha, who looked at it and then up at James.

"If it's not you, James, it's your long-lost twin," she said.

"I was born in Russia. I'm not even American," James replied.

"How did you two meet then?" Steve asked. No matter what James said he still believed he was Bucky. He wasn't sure how or why but it was a gut feeling, the same one that had made him believe that helping Natasha was the right thing to do. James looked at Natasha before answering. She shrugged.

"We worked for the same people for a brief period of time. We were both...dissatisfied with our work environment. We saw in each other a chance to do together what we could not achieve alone. We work for different people now, but we have remained friends, which is something rare in our professions." James said vaguely. An unwillingness to divulge personal information was clearly something that these two shared.

"Are you on assignment right now?" Natasha asked.

"Not at the moment. I just came here to rest for a few days before my next mission."

"Good. I need your help," she said, and walked with him into the other room, her food unfinished. Steve scraped it onto his plate and finished it himself. He had been raised to not waste food, and like Bucky, James was a good cook. When he was finished, he washed his dishes and walked over into the living room. The house was furnished well, but it had no personality. No pictures on the mantle, no notes tacked onto the fridge. He wandered back into the hallway.

There were two bedrooms separated by a bathroom that joined them together, and that was where Natasha was, sitting on the edge of the bathtub as James was standing by the sink. Her shirt was off, and so was her bandage. Her silver necklace hung down to rest in her cleavage, which Steve quickly looked away from. He looked at her side injury instead. Steve's clumsy stitches had come loose with all of the running and shooting and fighting that Natasha had done. The swelling around her eye had gone down, and her hair was tied up out of her face, but she still looked exhausted.

"They won't stop, not until I deliver it to Fury, and there's no way I can get to him alone," she said as James sat down with a needle and thread. Natasha sat still as he got to work.

"Coulson was going to contact me on Saturday, so I've got a couple of days free, I can work with you and help you out."

"We need a secure location to send the data, since it's going to be too risky to hand it over in person."

"What do you mean by secure location? You said this house was safe," Steve said, and Natasha looked up at him, though James still concentrated on his task at hand.

"It is safe, for now. This necklace is more than just a necklace," she explained, twisting open the pendant on the silver chain to expose a tiny little black card in a plastic case. She put the pendant back together and dropped it down her front.

"There's important information on that. That's what those men were after."

"Yes. I need to get it to people who will know what to do with it. I can't go in person because the people I stole it from will be tracking me, and I need a secure computer to send them to him in person."

"If they're tracking you, doesn't that mean we're in danger? How do we know they're not on their way here right now?"

"They'll be here soon, I'm sure. We have some time though, finding the location of this house and tracking down the stolen car will take some time. It is very early in the morning, and even bad guys need their sleep."

"A secure location will be impossible to find. They'll be waiting there." James said.

"So then do the opposite." Steve suggested.

"What?"

"They're expecting you to find a secure place to send the data, so that means there is no secure place. Try an insecure place. Someplace people use so much that it will take time for the bad guys to sift through the data to find what they're looking for."

"That's not a bad idea." James said, looking at Steve more speculatively now. Steve thought he saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but then it was gone and James busied himself taping a bandage onto Natasha's clean and freshly stitched wound.

"The public library probably opens around nine or ten," Steve said.

"Good. In the mean time, I'm going to go get some sleep. Wake me up when it's time." Natasha said, standing up, putting her shirt back on, and disappearing into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door behind her. James and Steve were left looking at each other.

"Are you sure? Are you sure you're not Bucky? You didn't grow up in Brooklyn? You don't have three sisters? Rebecca Barnes was the one closest to you in age, I still talk to her on the phone sometimes, she moved to Florida with her boyfriend last year, but she calls on your birthday every year."

"The name sounds familiar, but I don't have any siblings or parents. I'm an orphan. I was born in Moscow, grew up in an orphanage, and was selected by the government at the age of sixteen. They trained me for eight years as an assassin and sniper." James said, but there was no feeling or emotion behind his words. He sounded like he had memorized them.

"You're like Natasha. You both worked for the bad guys, but you work for the good guys now."

"It's not that simple, not that black and white. No matter what we do, either of us alone or both of us together, it doesn't erase what we did in the past."

"I have faith in you." Steve said simply.

"You don't even know me."

Steve shrugged, and James walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve went out to the car in the driveway and spent some time rummaging around inside to see if he could find anything useful. He did find a cell phone, which he used to look up James. Predictably, there was nothing really out there. Same for Natasha Romanoff. These two were good at what they did. When Steve came back inside the house, James was sitting on the living room couch waiting for him.

"Tell me more about your friend's sister. Rebecca," he said. Steve kind of looked at him, unsure, but then he went with it.

"She's two years younger than us - Bucky and me. When we were little, Bucky's mom took care of all of the kids plus me and a few other neighborhood kids whose parents worked. Bucky and Rebecca and I were the oldest, so we helped out how we could. Rebecca was really bossy. She had two brown braids, it was kind of old-fashioned but she said that way she could keep her hair out of her face. She was really good at helping out with the kids but she said as soon as she was old enough she was never changing another diaper or wiping another snotty face again."

"Did that happen? Does she have kids of her own?"

"No, not a single one, and she likes it that way. Your - Bucky's other two sisters, well, one of them got sick and passed away when she was about thirteen. The other one is happily married with a little boy, and Rebecca loves being his aunt."

James seemed happier to hear this than he should be if he had no connection to these people. Steve thought he might know more than he was letting on, and he was going to play along and let him figure it out in his own time if need be.

"You're a good cook, just like Bucky. Do you have any pictures or videos from when you were growing up?" Steve asked.

"I grew up in a Russian orphanage, there were no doting parents filming my first steps."

"Your English is very good. You have a little bit of a Brooklyn accent."

"No I don't." James said, pushing his hair back behind his ears. It immediately fell forward again.

"Doesn't your long hair bother you? It must get in your eyes. Do you tie it up?" Steve asked.

"It's too thick and short, it won't stay up."

"Do you want a haircut?"

"What?" James said. Steve shrugged.

"I can cut your hair. I used to date a girl who taught me a little bit. I promise I can make it look better than what you have now, get it out of your face," he said. James looked like he couldn't believe what he was saying, but after a moment of thought, he nodded.

"There's some newspaper in the front hall closet, you can set it up in the kitchen," James said, and went off to find some scissors. A few minutes later, he was sitting on a chair, newspaper at his feet, with Steve standing behind him, a pair of scissors in his hand.

"Normally I'd spray your hair with some water to get it wet enough to make sure I cut it straight, but your hair is already really greasy. What do you put it in it? It looks terrible." Steve said.

"I like it this way," James said, and tried to turn around to face the smaller man standing behind him. Steve put his hands on his head and turned him to face forward again.

"If you liked it that way you wouldn't have agreed to let me cut it off. Don't move," he said, and Steve began. He tried not to spend any time touching James more than necessary, even though he was nearly certain that this was in fact his lost best friend. He worked in silence, cutting off the slick locks of hair until he was finally satisfied.

"I'm done," he said. James stood up, brushing off his shoulders and shirt.

"I'm going to go look in the mirror," he said, reaching up to touch his hair.

"No, go take a shower first. Get the grease out of your hair and wash off any of it that fell on your shirt, then come out and see if you like it," Steve said. James looked at him with that same confused look, but nodded.

"I'll be right back."

Steve cleaned up the mess that he had made, sweeping the floor and throwing away the newspapers. Then he checked the time, and decided to go wake Natasha up. He let himself into the bedroom, and Natasha opened her eyes and sat up just as he walked in.

"Time to go?" she asked.

"As soon as James gets out of the shower - " Steve began, but then he heard the water shut off and James walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist and his newly shorn hair dripping. He looked so much like the Bucky Steve had known that he thought his heart actually skipped a few beats. There was an ugly scar running down James' shoulder, raw and red, looking almost as if his entire arm should have come off.

"Is that from the accident?" Steve asked.

"Nice hair," Natasha said.

"My arm? It's a prosthetic. It looks real, doesn't it? An anonymous benefactor donated it to me after a car accident."

"You mean a motorcycle accident. Isn't it a little strange that an anonymous benefactor would donate that to you? Did you meet James after his accident?" Steve asked Natasha, who nodded.

"Yes. He'd already been working for a few years before we ever met. I was a little younger, but I skipped through the program quickly."

"Right." Steve said, and there was a bit of an awkward silence.

"Was the motorcycle red?" James asked suddenly. Steve perked up.

"Yes! It was bright red. Attracted a lot of attention. It was flashy, but you liked it - Bucky liked it that way."

"I remember the motorcycle."

"This is very nice, but we need to go, now. Do you have transportation?" Natasha asked.

"Why can't we use the car in the driveway?" Steve asked.

"There's a bus that leaves from the corner in ten minutes." James said. Natasha nodded.

"Let's go."

The three of them got on the half-empty bus, Steve very conscious of how strange a picture they probably looked to innocent bystanders. Natasha was gorgeous and Bucky looked very handsome with his shorter hairstyle. Both were athletic and dressed well, and they made a very good couple. They just fit together. Steve felt inadequate with his small, sickly stature and slightly oversized shirt and pants. He took a seat behind the two of them, and stared out the window. He pulled out a notebook he had found in James' house, and began to sketch an older woman who was sitting a few rows ahead, knitting something.

After a couple of stops of James and Natasha murmuring to each other in low voices, Natasha moved back to sit with Steve instead, and James went to the front of the bus, standing up by the driver, ready to pull the cord when it was time to get off.

"There's a really big chance that my James is your Bucky," she said, and Steve shut his notebook, giving her his full attention.

"It wasn't unusual for the people we worked for to brainwash us. Manipulate our memories. It took me a long time to figure out what was real and what wasn't. James, well, James was special. I was different, bright and talented for making it through the program at the speed I did, but James was special. I could tell they were trying to make him into something more. I don't know where they got him. When he first showed up and began to train me, he spoke Russian with an accent."

"That doesn't make any sense. What would those kind of people want with Bucky? He wasn't dangerous, he didn't have any special skills, not those kind of skills."

"His arm isn't just a normal prosthetic. It's super strong. I've seen him crush a man's bones just by squeezing a little harder than normal."

"So my friend Bucky crashed his motorcycle, had to have his arm amputated, was rescued by the Russian government and given a prosthetic super strong arm, and trained as an assassin for them before quitting to work for a better boss with you?" Steve said.

"It sounds strange, but it's definitely not the most bizarre thing to ever happen to me, I don't know about you."

James pulled the cord, and the bus came to a stop. Steve and Natasha got up and followed James off the bus to the street, and the three of them walked together to the small library.

"James, you stay outside, keep an eye out. Steve, look at some books or something. I'll be as quick as I can." Natasha said. James nodded and took a seat on one of the benches outside, as Natasha and Steve walked into the library. Natasha went straight for the computer terminals, and Steve busied himself pretending to be interested in the gardening section because it gave him a good view of the whole place. He opened a book about perennials and kept it in his hands as he glanced around the library. It was too early for it to be very busy, there were just the two librarians and a couple of elderly men and women puttering around. A teenager with a backpack was at the other computer terminal, and he looked too young to be here on a school day. He kept peeking around his monitor to stare at Natasha, who was completely ignoring him.

James came in the library, and Steve immediately put his book away. James was supposed to stay outside. If he was in here, that meant there was trouble. Natasha had tucked her necklace back into her shirt and stood up as soon as she saw James, and let him take her by the arm and lead her towards the back exit.

Steve stayed where he was, and saw when two large men walked in, clearly out of place. One of them sat down at the computer terminal Natasha had been at, and the other walked purposefully out the back exit. Steve waited a minute, then followed. When he got out there, in the parking lot, the man was pinned against the wall by Natasha as James held a gun pointed at him. James whirled around when he saw Steve and for a moment the gun was pointed at him instead - Steve threw his hands up over his head and the man tried to use the momentary distraction to break free. Normally he would have no luck, but Natasha was still recovering from her injuries, and her swollen eye obstructed her vision slightly. He took advantage of her blind spot and used her own arms holding him to twist out of her grip and throw her hard to the ground. James turned and fired two shots, one hitting the wall behind the man's head, and the other nicking his ear.

The curious teenager had come out the back exit to see what the noise was.

"Get back inside, now!" Steve yelled at him, and the kid obeyed, shutting the door but still standing just inside so he could look out the window.

The man wrenched Natasha's necklace from her neck, the flimsy chain breaking off easily, and then he left her on the ground. He took off running, but James, calm and focused, took aim and fired, getting him right in the middle of his back. The man fell to the pavement just in front of his getaway car, the necklace falling out of his grip and blood pooling around him. Steve ran over to get it, and James helped Natasha to her feet. The man that had stayed inside the library pushed the kid out of the way and began to open the door.

"Grab his car keys!" James yelled, and Steve took the keys out of the dead man's pocket, running over to the car and starting the engine. James and Natasha came over, Natasha jumping in the front seat and James getting in the back.

"Go, go, go!" Natasha yelled, as the other man pulled out his own gun and began to aim for the tires of the car. James fired two more shots out the back window as Steve peeled out of the small library parking lot, tires squealing, and his heart didn't stop beating overtime until they were well out of town.


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you manage to send the information you needed to send?" Steve asked Natasha about half an hour later as they drove down the highway in the stolen SUV.

"No, I couldn't. I think the only way this will work now is for me to give this to Fury in person," she said.

"That means we have to go to Washington DC."

"Are we going to drive there? It's six hours away; more than that if we hit rush hour traffic in the afternoon."

"I don't think we have much of a choice, unless you want to take the bus."

"We need to switch cars," James said, and Natasha nodded.

"Pull over here," she said, and Steve drove into a gas station. Natasha picked a van this time, a white one that had an electrical company's logo painted on the side. She stole it before anyone noticed, her jacket hood pulled down low over her head so no security cameras could see anything. James and Steve walked a few blocks away so that she could come and pick them up, and then Steve took the wheel, getting on the highway to go south.

"If I knew I'd be going on a road trip I would have packed snacks and maybe a toothbrush," Steve said. He still couldn't quite believe that he was here right now, that his ordinary life had been turned upside down and now he was following his injured neighbor, probably a government spy, and her partner, who was also his previously presumed dead best friend, while being chased by big guys with guns as they tried to deliver some kind of secret information to a man called Fury.

"We can buy those things on the road, but let's wait until the way back. I'll feel much better once the necklace is out of my hands," Natasha said. She was sitting in the back because that way she could stretch out a little, resting her still healing body. James was sitting sideways in the front seat, busily trying to tie the necklace's chain back together so that Natasha could put it around her neck again instead of just carrying it. Steve was clearly the only one of them who believed in seatbelts.

"You know, even in your line of work you're more likely to be killed in a car accident than anything else," he said.

"You're a good driver, we trust you," Natasha said, and Steve rolled his eyes, but no one saw.

"Got it," James said triumphantly. Natasha turned her back and scooted closer, holding her hair up. James carefully fastened the chain around her neck. It was shorter now, so she couldn't hide it under her shirt, but at least it was close to her and no one could snatch it so easily out of her hand or her pocket.

"I went to your funeral." Steve said suddenly.

"Bucky's funeral, you mean." James replied after a beat.

"You don't know what it felt like. What it feels like. To have your best friend, your soulmate - ripped away from you. It was like someone opened me up and cut half of me away and nothing else you put inside to fill that hole of mine would make it feel any better. I knew you - I knew Bucky like I knew myself."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't know what it feels like to have part of yourself taken away? I can't remember anything before I came to the Red Room. I don't know where I'm from, I can't remember the first twenty years of my life, they told me I had amnesia when they found me, almost dead, and they saved my life and gave me a purpose. They told me what my memories were, they hooked me up to machines, they injected me with serums, they - Natasha knows. She knows some of it. But you - you could never understand."

Steve had been so focused on getting James to admit that he was Bucky that he hadn't actually stopped to think about what he had been through. He was not done wrapping his head around the fact that his friend was alive but he wasn't the same person he knew, and now he had to begin to understand the implications. James may have been Bucky once, but he wasn't anymore, and he might never be again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just accepted that you were dead, I should have investigated, I should have looked harder, I'm so sorry, I let you down, I - "

"Shut up, Steve." James said gruffly, and it was such a Bucky thing to say, with such an exasperated Bucky expression, that Steve felt his heart flip over and he had to swallow a few times.

"Whatever they made you do wasn't your fault. I'm proud of you," he said finally. James snorted.

"Proud of me? For killing scores of innocent people? Torturing people as their families - their children - watched? I worked for years, and my job was to do the things that no one else wanted to."

"Yes, but then you got out. You did it of your own free will. You stopped. You're here now, helping Natasha, working for the good guys. How many other people have done that in your situation?"

"You don't understand," James said.

"Then explain it to me! I love you, I don't care if you're James or Bucky. You're the same guy who had my back in every fight I got into in grade school. You're the guy who quit school to work so that I could finish and get my diploma. You're the best friend I could ever ask for, and that is never ever going to change."

There was a silence. James stared straight ahead at the road, saying nothing, and Steve couldn't read his blank expression. Natasha let out a long sigh.

"Boys. You're so melodramatic."

x

They arrived in Washington DC just before rush hour. Steve had only been to the city once before, on an eighth grade field trip. Bucky hadn't been able to go, because he'd gotten strep throat two days before, so Steve went without him, but he took tons of pictures and told him all about it as soon as he got back. Steve remembered going to museums and seeing monuments. It gave him a thrill in the pit of his stomach to walk past the Washington Monument and think about all the history that had happened here. New York City had a flavor all its own, but Washington DC just felt so important.

Natasha instructed Steve to park at the Vienna Metro Station in Virginia, and they took the Metro into the city, all the way to Foggy Bottom. They got off near George Washington University, where Steve felt old among the crowds of students but then young among the government workers walking by. Natasha walked quickly and sometimes forgot that Steve took some time, but James fell into step right beside him, matching his shorter strides easily. It was something Bucky used to do. Steve was short and he lost his breath easily, so he was used to the people he was with walking a few paces ahead, but Bucky had always consciously slowed down so he could walk with Steve side by side.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Steve asked, and James shrugged.

"I'm just following Natasha. We don't work for the same people."

Natasha stopped in front of a large, shiny office building. The first floor had a bakery, and Steve was suddenly ravenous.

"Do you want us to come with you?" he asked.

"You'd better. I don't know what will be waiting for me up there."

"Can we get something to eat first?"

Natasha seemed slightly annoyed, but she agreed. James bought Steve a muffin, and they shared it when Steve couldn't finish it. They trailed crumbs into the office building's lobby, ignoring the annoyed looks from the security guard manning the front desk. Natasha hit the button for the twelfth floor in the elevator, and Steve looked at his reflection in the mirror. Natasha and Bucky were dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, and they looked like they belonged here. Steve was still wearing the T-shirt and sweatpants he'd slept in the day before, and his hair was rumpled, his clothing wrinkled. He tried to smooth it down but it didn't really work too well.

The elevator dinged and they all got out, following Natasha down a hallway and into a door marked simply 'Consulting'. It was open, and the receptionist's desk at the front was empty. Natasha went around to the other side of the desk and dialed a number on the phone. She waited a moment, pressed a few more numbers, and then the door beside the desk clicked open. Natasha motioned for James and Steve to walk through, and she made sure the door shut behind them. There was another, heavier metal door now to pass by, and Natasha entered another series of numbers into the keypad before this one opened too. Finally they emerged into a crowded large room divided into cubicles. Natasha made her way through the bustling office to a room at the end labeled Director Nick Fury, and didn't bother knocking, just opening the door and going right in.

"Take this," she said, dropping the necklace on the desk in front of the imposing man with the eyepatch. He just looked at her.

"Mission accomplished," she said, and walked out. James and Steve kind of waited awkwardly in the doorway.

"And who are you?" Fury asked Steve. 

"I'm Steve. This is my friend, James, but he's also my friend Bucky."

Fury's eyebrow went up.

"We're going to go now," James said, backing out of the office.

"Steve, let me know if you're interested in a job," Fury said.

"I - I'll do that, thank you," he said, still not one hundred percent sure what it was that Fury, Natasha, or James actually did. He hadn't shown up for his own job today and he might actually ask Natasha more about job opportunities if his own fired him. It wasn't like he saw a potential career as a part time drugstore cashier for the future.

"Natasha! Isn't Fury going to pay you or something? Those men who are after you don't know that you gave him the necklace, won't they still try to find you?" Steve called after her.

"As soon as Fury downloads the data, they'll know. They won't have any more reason to come after me. As for payment, that's done remotely. Let's go home," she said. The whole thing felt a little anticlimactic to Steve. After all the trouble they had been through, this was it? But Natasha knew what she was doing better than him, that was for sure, so he followed her and James out to the car.

"It's going to take us five hours to drive back to New York, at least," Steve said as he got into the backseat of the car. Natasha was driving, apparently, and James climbed in the back with Steve.

"Maybe we'll just spend the night at the safe house instead of trying to get back into the city at this hour," she said.

"How do you two even know each other?" James asked, leaning back against the window.

"Natasha's cat came and got me so I went into her apartment and helped her get cleaned up and changed." Steve explained, not meeting James' eyes.

"Really?" James said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Leave the poor guy alone, James."

"He's blushing!"

"I have rosacea." Steve lied.

"No you don't, I remember - you had almost every kind of illness known to man, but not that one."

"You remember?" he said, his voice so full of hope that James looked away.

"I don't know why I said that," he said, and then was silent for the rest of the drive.

They dropped James off at the safe house. Steve was hoping he'd get at least a hug goodbye, but James just waved and Natasha drove to the train station. Steve was too tired and drained to talk much, and Natasha was clearly completely exhausted. As soon as they boarded the train and took their seats, leaving the stolen car behind, Natasha fell fast asleep, her head on Steve's shoulder. She snored lightly, and her head was heavy, but Steve didn't really mind. He sat staring out the window, thinking about Bucky.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha woke up instantly when they arrived, and they took the subway back to their neighborhood, walking the few blocks into their building. There was police tape in front of Natasha's apartment, and she took Steve's arm, steering him back to the elevator.

"I don't feel like dealing with all of that right now. Can I just crash at your place?" she asked, and he nodded, of course.

"Sure, no problem," Steve said, and unlocked his door. It was strange that his apartment was exactly the same as when he'd left it. Completely normal. He was the one who was different now, he felt like his life had been irrevocably changed and he wasn't yet sure how he was going to deal with it. His whole body was sore, and he knew that when he took off his clothes to take a shower in the morning he would find fresh cuts and bruises all over.

"I'll sleep on the couch, you can take my bed." Steve said, and Natasha ignored him, dropping down onto the sofa and falling asleep in moments. He took his mother's old blanket and dropped it over her, then went into his own room and laid down. He was out like a light.

When the doorbell rang, Steve had to take a moment to remember where he was. He was disoriented and didn't even know what time it was or what day it was. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and realized it was the next morning. When he went into the living room, his mother's blanket was neatly folded at the foot of the couch and Natasha was gone. He went to answer the door, and there was James standing there, wearing a T-shirt, jacket, and jeans, and looking exactly like Bucky, right down to the hopeful expression in his eyes and the messy dark hair that looked like he'd just woken up no matter how many times he brushed it back down.

"Thought I'd come by and see how you were doing. Saw Natasha on the way up, she was going for a run." James said, handing Steve a coffee and a brown paper bag that smelled like pastry. He pushed past Steve into the apartment like he owned the place.

"You didn't always live here, did you?" he asked.

"No, I moved here after you - after Bucky died," Steve said, still a little taken aback by his friend's sudden appearance.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have ever lived in a dump like this. Look at your kitchen!" he said, pulling open a cabinet door only to have it come off in his hands.

"I don't really ever have time to - "

"Well, I have time. You take a shower and get dressed, then we're going to Home Depot, and Natasha's coming with."

"I don't want to bother her - "

"She has an eye for interior decorating," James said, and Steve snorted.

"I take it you've been to her place," James replied with his charming Bucky grin.

"It's nice, but it isn't exactly decorated."

"Yeah, she's a strange one, but aren't we all? Come on, get ready! I don't have all day."

Steve obeyed, heading for the showers, and no matter how painful his body was from all of the overexertion of the past few days, as the hot water hit his pale skin and steam filled the bathroom, Steve could hear his best friend clanking around in the kitchen. He may be out of a job and still in the dark regarding what exactly his new friend and old friend actually did for a living, but he could get used to this. Steve wiped the dirt off his body, but the goofy smile on his face wasn't coming off anytime soon.


End file.
